After Hours (17 page)

Joe O'Hagan stood at the bar, his baleful eye fixed on Duke. Even as he picked up his glass and sipped the froth, he kept the landlord in his sights. ‘It happens to the best of us!' he announced, apropos of nothing.

‘What does, Pa?' Tommy pushed back his hat and drank a long draught of cool beer.

‘Getting the push. I've had it all my life, and it ain't pleasant, believe me.' Joe's Irish accent seemed to give his bleak words a musical edge. ‘I've had the push so many times I lost count. The railways, the canals, they given me the push when I was a young man. I was a fine figure in them days.' He tugged at the dark brown liquid, pulling it down his scrawny throat in gulps. ‘The bottle factory, and the cardboard box factory and the cabinet makers, they given me the push in my time. And now Jack Cooper.' He followed Duke's activities behind the bar, inviting him to come over and share the misery of being put out of work. With the closure of Coopers', Joe had lost his part-time portering job. ‘Who'll take me on now?' he complained.

Duke came across at last. ‘What's that, Joe? You ain't moaning, are you?' He winked at Tommy.

‘He is, and he's giving us a earache.' Tommy had had a lifetime of his father's grumbling while his mother, Mary, struggled on.

‘What, you ain't sixty yet, are you, Joe? There's plenty of life in the old dog yet!' Duke stacked glasses ready for the evening trade.

The worn-out little Irishman gave a hollow laugh. ‘Tell that to
them as pays the wages.' And he began another long, self-pitying lament.

But Tommy cut him off. ‘Stow it, Pa. Duke don't want to hear it. Things ain't exactly rosy for him neither.'

Duke sniffed. ‘You can say that again.'

Arthur remembered the reason he'd called in. ‘How's things, Duke?' he asked in a tone of deep commiseration.

‘They been better, thanks, Arthur.' It was four days since the police summons had landed on his mat. Duke managed business as usual, but only just, as he felt the clock ticking towards his court appearance on the fourth of July.

‘Any news of who dropped you in it?' Arthur's nose for gossip was almost as sharp as Dolly's.

‘Nothing definite.'

‘It was Wiggin,' Joe said with finality. ‘Everyone knows it was him. We hear him, day in, day out, cursing and swearing and calling you all the names under the sun, Duke. He's the one, you can bet your life.'

‘Ain't none of us will have nothing to do with him,' Arthur assured Duke. ‘We sent him to Coventry the day it happened. Ain't no one said a word to him since.'

‘Much good may that do.' Tommy polished off his pint and pulled his hat down on to his forehead. ‘No, what we need is for someone to finish him off good and proper. Bang goes your witness, bang goes your case!'

‘Now, now, less of that!' Duke shook his head.

‘I was only trying to look on the bright side.' Tommy's wide grey eyes opened still further. He gave a wink and sauntered out through the swing-door.

‘Take no notice,' Joe advised. ‘With a bit of luck, Wiggin will drink himself to death before you get to court, Duke.'

‘He'd best get a move on,' Arthur pointed out. ‘He's only got just over a week.'

Duke went and pulled a pint for a new customer. He told George to tap a fresh barrel, then gave Ernie the first of his evening chores. ‘Put fresh sawdust in them spittoons, and sweep around a bit,
there's a good lad. Let's have the place spick and span.' He himself checked the gas mantles. With a grunt of satisfaction he rang up fourpence on the till. They were good and ready. He pulled out his watch; it was half past seven on Tuesday, 24 June.

While Duke stuck to business as usual, the rest of the family racked their brains over what to do. Though the taxi work kept Rob busy as ever, he made a special journey over to Maurice's house one night, soon after the bad news had come. It was late. There were few lights on along the tree-lined streets as Rob pulled up and rang the bell.

Jess came to the door to let him in. The strain of worrying over Duke told in her pale face and serious expression. She kissed her brother's cheek, took his hat and led him into the kitchen, where Maurice sat at the table in his shirt-sleeves, looking dog-tired after a long day at work.

‘What do you reckon?' Rob pulled out a chair and joined him, sighing deeply. ‘It don't look good, do it?'

Maurice tilted his head sideways, his sharp features half in shadow. ‘Licensing laws are pretty straightforward, to tell you the truth. If you're caught breaking them, you land in the cart good and proper.' Jess had spilled out the facts to him as soon as Hettie had rung her on the previous Friday night. As far as he could see, Duke had dropped himself right in it.

‘Don't say that,' Jess put in, quiet but tense. She handed Rob a small glass of whisky. ‘Rob ain't come all this way just to hear that. We know Pa's in the cart. What we have to do is work out a way of getting him out.'

Maurice nodded. He, too, realized how much his father-in-law
was
the pub, and the pub was Duke. ‘Right, let's think. First off, who owns the licence?' he asked Rob.

‘The brewery. Pa's a tenant and he's a bleeding good one. The best there is. They know him. There's never been a scrap of trouble in more than thirty years!' Rob grew hot in Duke's defence.

‘Till now.' Maurice went briskly on. ‘The chances are, the brewery won't want no trouble over it themselves. They'll let Duke take
the blame, never mind the profits he's put their way, and they'll just sit by till it's all blown over.'

‘Oh!' Jess frowned. ‘Typical, ain't it? Not a bit of trouble for thirty-five years! Then, soon as Pa steps out of line, they drop him!' She was close to tears. Why couldn't Maurice be a bit more positive?

‘There
is
one thing.' Maurice worked things through. The brewery will want to stay out of it, right? They'll let Duke go to court next week and lose his licence. Then they'll issue a new licence to someone else, a new landlord, and get him into the Duke as quick as ever they can.'

Jess put both hands to her ears. ‘Oh, Maurice, don't!'

‘No, hang on a minute. They won't like it one little bit. It gives them a problem, see, if they have to get a new man. But if we could find a way of helping them out of their difficulty; if we can find a new landlord for them before it comes to court, I think they'd jump at the chance!'

‘Find the brewery a new landlord' Rob echoed. ‘Either I'm dim, Maurice, or you're round the bend, pal.' He stood up in disgust.

‘No, listen. 'Course, we don't want just any old landlord.' Maurice spread his hands flat on the table. ‘Look, say Duke is bound to lose his licence on the fourth? It's what they call a foregone conclusion. Well, we have to get to the brewery before then and say there's no need to go as far as court. Duke agrees to give up the tenancy.'

Jess jumped up and turned away.

‘No.' Rob stopped her from leaving. ‘I think I'm with you, Maurice. If the brewery can keep their noses clean, they might listen to what we have to say. But it depends on the name we come up with for the new landlord, don't it? Someone who'll let Duke stay on, someone who wants to take on the licence in name only, but let Pa run things same as always?'

Maurice nodded, his face broke into a smile. ‘What do you think?'

‘Good one!' Rob saw it straight away. ‘You ain't thinking of volunteering for the job, are you, Maurice?'

Jess sat down again, listening hard. She turned her head from her brother to her husband and back.

Maurice shook his head. ‘I got enough on my plate. Anyhow, I wouldn't go down too well with the brewery. My face don't fit,' he said wryly. In the East End, immigrant Jews weren't considered good landlord material. ‘And the name ain't right. No, I was thinking more of you, Rob old son. You're on the spot, see. You know the ropes. If you ask me, you're a good bet to put up to the brewery. What do you say?'

Rob smacked his palm on to the table. ‘Bleeding brilliant!' He beamed at Jess. ‘Sis, you're married to a flipping genius!'

Maurice, too, was pleased with himself. ‘I'll set up a time to go and see them. You and me, Rob, we'll go along together. Let's see what they got to say.'

‘What will you tell Pa?' Jess asked.

‘What do you think?' Rob looked back at her for advice.

‘Don't tell him nothing yet,' she decided. ‘It'd be cruel to raise his hopes before we pull it off.'

Maurice nodded. ‘Wear your best suit,' he said as he showed Rob to the door. ‘I'll telephone you tomorrow.' They shook hands. ‘Let's try to keep it in the family and keep everyone happy.' But he lowered his voice for a word of caution. ‘Don't bank on nothing yet, Rob. We're doing our best, but we got an uphill struggle to keep Duke where he belongs.'

He went inside to help Jess clear away for the night. She was warm towards him as they got into bed, and she lay close, resting inside the crook of his arm, one hand on his chest.

‘Better now?' he asked gently.

She nodded. ‘It don't seem right. How can life be so cruel to Pa? He ain't done nothing to deserve it.'

‘No, he ain't.' Maurice kissed her hair.

‘And how can
I
be happy with Pa in trouble?'

He held her tight. He would ring up and try to pull a few strings with the brewery, he would do what he could. He liked it better when Jess relied on him and turned to him for help. He kissed her
warm face and lips, remembering how it was in the early days; the trust between them, the unbroken passion and tenderness.

‘And how are
you
bearing up?' Dolly leaned across the bar to grasp Annie's hand. It was Saturday evening and the usual singalong hadn't picked up, so Dolly gave up her vocal efforts to come and have a chat with her beleaguered old friend.

‘Better since you stopped making that horrible din.' Annie wasn't about to succumb to Dolly's sentimental overture. ‘Dame Nellie Melba you definitely ain't!'

A couple of young lads standing nearby in their cheap suits and trilby hats caught on. They laughed, then squawked in imitation of Dolly's operatic rendering of ‘Sister Susie'. ‘More like Vesta Tilley,' one scoffed, referring to Dolly's deep voice. ‘Only she ain't wearing no trousers!'

‘Very funny.' Dolly did her best to ignore them and turned back to Annie. ‘I was saying to Charlie earlier on, ain't it a shame Wiggin had to show up when he did? He set the cat among the pigeons all right.' Dolly was dressed up for her night out in a white lace collar and a bottle-green dress of crushed velvet, whose ample skirt took up much room at the bar. She leaned closer to Annie. ‘I think you're a saint to put up with it like you do. I'm a churchgoer myself, but I admit, I wouldn't give him house-room if he showed up on my doorstep and I was you.'

‘Well, he didn't, and you ain't.' Still Annie was reluctant to be drawn into Dolly's gossip trap. She had too much on her mind as it was.

Undeterred, Dolly went full steam ahead. ‘Especially after what he done to you, Annie!' She tutted in all directions, hoping to enlist sympathy for Annie's cause. But all she succeeded in doing was catching Frances Wray's cool gaze. Frances had been tea-time visiting and was just on her way out. She'd popped into the bar to say goodbye to Annie.

Dolly Ogden wasn't fond of Frances. ‘I say she ain't natural!' she would hold forth to Arthur on many occasions. Between them the couple had set up a small campaign against the best educated
of the Parsons girls, ever since her support for the window smashers way back before the war. ‘It ain't nice for a woman to join marches and behave the way she does.' And when she left the pub to go off and marry Billy Wray, it was their opinion that the street was better off without her snooty face poking its nose in everywhere. Dolly felt Frances's disapproving gaze fall on her now, and it provoked her. ‘I was just telling Annie, Frances, I wouldn't give Wiggin house-room. Not after what he went and did!'

Frances didn't respond at first, but when Dolly bustled across, all green velvet and lavender-water, to accost her face to face, she turned and sighed. ‘What's that, Dolly?'

‘I'm only saying what every single soul in this court says!' She rose up and defended herself. ‘Wiggin ruined everything for Annie, we all know that. I'm just expressing my sympathy, that's all!' Two or three drinks had made Dolly indiscreet and raised the volume of her voice.

‘And I'm sure she's grateful.' Frances noticed that Annie had made herself scarce. She tried to make her own excuses and leave.

But Dolly seized her wrist. ‘Look here, Frances, the people round here, we care about Annie and your pa, so don't think we don't!'

Aware of several girls from the market sitting nearby, all ears, Frances tried to pull away. ‘I know it,' she said quietly, trying to unwrap Dolly's fingers.

‘Well, we want to know how you can stand by and let it happen.' Dolly's temper suddenly lit up. Frances Wray was a cold fish all right.

‘We're not just standing by, Dolly. But what can we do?' At last Frances freed herself. She felt knocked back by Dolly's burst of anger, but separate from it. It was nothing to do with anything that she, Frances, had said or done.

‘You can try getting them two back together for a start!' the older woman's voice fell into a stage-whisper. ‘Don't you see how miserable it is for them?'

Frances blushed self-consciously, feeling all eyes on them. ‘Hush, Dolly. Anyhow, this ain't none of your business,' she said abruptly.

This was lighting the blue touchpaper as tar as Dolly was
concerned. ‘Ain't none of my business?' Her voice shot up several decibels once more. She turned to address their audience. ‘Ain't I known Duke since he first came here?' she demanded. ‘Ain't I known Annie even longer than that? And Lady High-and-Mighty here has the cheek to say it ain't none of my business!'